Poetry: Three Bulls

Under the summer sun’s blaze,
Through winter’s misty cold haze,
Three bulls trek tracts and rich green fields
Tongues rip out whatever the ground yields,
Enduring their till-death graze.

On the grass they feed and laze
And on them lays the fervid gaze
Of a large and eager feline.
On the bulls the lion plans to dine,
If it weren’t for their formidable ways.

The trio of white, black and red
Fight and fend as a single head.
To attack them together
Would definitely render
A beaten wild cat, if not dead.

So the cunning cat approaches Red and Black.
Says: “White, your friend, he does lack
Honour and honesty
Or devotion, so trust me,
When the chance occurs, give him the sack.”

Soon the slaying starts with slashing.
A loud thud and the cat begins feeding.
It sinks its fangs into and tears out entrails,
Licks blood and digs deeper as White’s dying wails
Fall on deaf ears, though eyes, dumbstruck, keep watching.

Time withers and a famished cat returns,
For fresh flesh and blood a craving burns.
The two bovine beasts under its sight
Still possess the might to fight
A lion that, for their lucrative demise, yearns.

So to Black a craving cat appears
To heighten the beast’s baseless fears.
Conveys: “By eating your brother
I’ve grown more able and stronger
So flee, your end surely nears.”

Later a confrontation takes place,
And Red is cornered while Black makes haste
Leaving nothing but settling dust.
As the predator starts settling its lust
Black escapes, disgrace taints his face.

Time wastes and a lone bull meets an old foe.
His face turns darker than his name as he sinks low.
“Surely, your end nears, it’s today!”
“You are mistaken in what you say
For I’ve been dead since White ceased to grow.”

by MZ (27/1/2002)

I share this, since it's a ready piece, and I haven't the time for blogging in ages. Watch out for more under MonkeyZerg's poetry tag.